


Awkward Positions

by Amatara



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Season/Series 05, Snark, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amatara/pseuds/Amatara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Londo and G'Kar find a little peace and freedom - in a Centauri prison cell.<br/>Set in late season 5, between the events of "And all my dreams, torn asunder" and "Movements of fire and shadow".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awkward Positions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cristin Anne](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Cristin+Anne).



> To Cristin Anne: Because no one requesting Londo/G'Kar slash should ever be denied it. *g*  
> Written hastily (if with much enthusiasm) so please forgive any flaws due to that.

*

“Great Maker – lie _still_, you nervous spoo-for-brains!” The gesture that came with the exclamation nearly tipped Londo off the cot altogether. He clung tight to blessedly robust Narn fabric and reined in his movements, but not his voice. “There is barely enough room for the two of us withoutyou fighting for every inch. Why can’t you –”

“Don’t delude yourself, Mollari,” G’Kar retorted, squirming in the small space between Londo and the damp stone wall. “There is not enough room for us both in the universe, never mind on a one-person cot in a prison cell, so –” A beat, then, sharply, “Does this place have cameras?” G'Kar craned his head to peer at the ceiling, bearing the look of a man ready to fend off assassins.

Londo would have heaved a sigh at that, except that the effort to avoid sprawling to the floor still took up most of his concentration. As it was, he just waited until G’Kar settled down long enough for him to hook a leg around his hips. The maneuver would hardly suffice to pin down an alarmed Narn if that’s what it came to, but at least it gave Londo the illusion of being a little more in charge.

“Of course it doesn’t,” he huffed, turning his attention back to unwrapping G’Kar’s upper garments, which was what he’d been doing _before_ the man’s little fit of paranoia. It hadn’t taken him long to decide he was craving thoughtlessness more than sleep, and he wasn’t quite prepared to meet resistance – not now, not about this. “What do you take us for, barbarians? Besides, you should know: I would hardly have discussed Cartagia’s demise with you had there been listening devices in these cells, hmm?” That memory stung ever so slightly, but he trampled over it with practiced ease, focusing on the multitude of straps that kept defying his fingers.

“Ah, but this is a different cell, isn’t it?” G’Kar half-frowned, half-grimaced. But he didn’t protest as Londo’s hands made further progress at burrowing beneath the leather undercoat. “The _luxury _cell, as I understood. And seeing that your people are less trustworthy the higher up in the order they are, it would make very good sense to have a camera here. A prospect I don’t find appealing at all, if I may be so bold as to criticize the accommodation.”

Londo harrumphed, wondering for the umpteenth time why Narns, being supposedly so hardened in ways of survival, would be so… _prudish, _really, about the most everyday of affairs. Nudity, for example, or public discussion of matters physical – things which, to a Centauri, were the most natural in the world – could still make G’Kar turn every shade of spotted purple… when sober, at least. Force of habit had worn off the edges, of course, as had a healthy dose of alpha-male boisterousness. But all things considered, it didn’t take much for him to slide back into the old patterns. Shame, Londo thought, with a stab of heartsickness for Adira, who had been the exact opposite in that respect. Pity and shame.  

Deliberate, Londo let his hand creep down another layer, using the other hand to finish unlacing his own shirt. “Don’t be paranoid, G’Kar.” He kept his tone light. “Do you think anyone around here is interested in the type of activities prisoners, especially _Narn _prisoners, tend to engage in in cells like this?” He raked G'Kar's stomach with his nails in punctuation, stifled a gratified smirk as the sulk was replaced by a strained hiccough. “And if they do, why should we even care?”

“_I_ care,” G'Kar breathed, dangerously, his look an abrupt reminder of what an enraged Narn was capable of. “As should you, if you are in any way attached to your – _dignity_.”

Londo started to reply, found himself pressing down a rush of frustration instead. While the banter would have invigorated him on any other occasion, he was suddenly, irrationally, struck by the fear that they were running out of time. He quenched the feeling by fastening his teeth upon the ridged Narn hide he had just bared. His own attributes quivered in empathy, but he made no move to free them. For some obscure reason, G’Kar preferred the use of Londo’s _hands_ over everything else the Maker had given him, and this was hardly the time or the place for demonstrations to the contrary. 

“Has anyone ever told you you think too much, G'Kar?" He picked up the conversation as he paused for breath. "Thinking is not very appropriate when one is making love.” 

“We are not ‘making love’”, G’Kar countered, a bit breathless but otherwise unperturbed. “We are simply spending our time in the least disagreeable way available.” But his eyes belied his words as they crinkled, lines trailing from their corners up towards the spotted scalp. Letting out a breath, Londo watched him slip a gloved hand between the hems of the silk, then sucked the air back in as studded leather trailed across his side in a motion both familiar and fresh.

“Call it as you wish.” Londo made an effort to sound bored, but G’Kar’s hand had fastened on a target by now, fondling it with lazy strokes in a way that was decidedly distracting. For a moment, he wondered if G'Kar had picked up on his own sense of urgency, or if he had simply grown tired of arguing, but as the strokes quickened and found a steady rhythm, he found he didn’t actually want to know. Instinctively, his own hand slid to cover one of the sensitive Narn nipples, finding it hard and taut and oddly reassuring in its warmth.

“Your hands are cold,” the Narn’s voice rumbled, though it didn’t sound much as if he cared. G'Kar's breath was hitching slightly now, but the gloved hand didn’t miss a beat.

They never came at the same time. Most often, as Centauri lore and boasts would lead to expect, G’Kar would be first, already shuddering through climax before Londo was even halfway towards the count of one. Today Londo beat him to it. He came hard and fast as if it had been years rather than days, and as G'Kar caught him against it, he could swear there was kindness behind those eyes. His own eyes were already drooping shut, but Londo fought it with all the strength he could muster, afraid somehow of what would happen if he let them. Those past weeks, the dreams had returned with a vengeance. Not the death dream, which would have been familiar at least, but new ones, dark and chaotic and filled with pale shapes and alien faces he didn't even recognize, but nonetheless filled him with a sense of dread. It almost felt, he thought, with a queasy kind of resignation, like something was drawing nearer, inching across the threshold even now.

“Go to sleep,” G’Kar said, cutting through his reverie. “Since the Centauri brain stops functioning for several hours after intercourse, I expect it won't be a great loss.”

Londo started on the obligatory chuckle, then reconsidered and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Ah, but who needs sleep when there are pleasures to be had, hmm?” He forced himself to produce a grin. “_I_ certainly do not wish –”  

“Because of the dreams?”

Londo blinked, then shrugged ruefully. Trust G’Kar not to miss anything. Of course, the fact that they'd been sharing a room more often than not those past months didn’t help in keeping a secret, especially since Londo was not a silent dreamer. To his own surprise, he found himself feeling relieved rather than annoyed that G'Kar had, so it seemed, read him like a book.

“Would you believe, G’Kar,” he said, hoarse, “that despite us being in a cell, and my people on the verge of war, I have this feeling these are still the _good _times? And–” His breath caught in his throat. “That they are ticking away.”

If he’d expected some kind of insight from G’Kar, it didn’t come. Instead, the eyes grew their laughter lines again, although this time there was a hint of sorrow too.

“You think too much, Mollari,” G'Kar purred, unfathomable. “Didn’t anyone teach you... not to think while making love?” At which he reached over and, smile still on his face, drew Londo's hand deeper between the folds of cloth.


End file.
